


A Clouded Fate

by News4Bees



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cloud City (Star Wars), Developing Friendships, Family Secrets, Force Sensitivity (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Original Character(s), Gen, Heist, Intrigue, Jedi Younglings (Star Wars), Mandalorian Clans (Star Wars), Original Character(s), Original Clone Character - Star Wars, Original Droid Character(s) - Star Wars, Original Kiffar Character - Star Wars, Original Mandalorian Character - Star Wars, Original Trandoshan Character - Star Wars, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, POV Original Character, Planet Coruscant (Star Wars), Planet Mandalore (Star Wars), Post-Order 66 (Star Wars), Post-Star Wars Prequel Trilogy & Pre-Star Wars: Original Trilogy, Post-Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Secrets, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28444014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/News4Bees/pseuds/News4Bees
Summary: Captain Talin Gorv will do anything to protect her son, especially once he begins to exhibit strange powers—even if it means she and her crew breaking into the Imperial archives on Coruscant with a reluctant stranger as a guide.Jemmaca Silmore is catapulted from her quiet life in hiding as a junior archivist of the long-forgotten Cloud City archives when she agrees to accompany a mysterious crew for a mission to Coruscant in place of her elderly mentor. Jem just wants to do this job and get back home, but her secret past as a Mandalorian buys her more than she bargained for with the crew and their mission.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. The Informant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capt Talin Gorv is on a mission for information, but what she learns might change her plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome friends! I'm so glad you're here. I was worried my fic would get lost in the sauce being exclusively built on original characters rather than any of our pre-established faves. But you're here! If you enjoy what you see in this first chapter and are excited for more, please don't hesitate to send some kudos or a comment.
> 
> I'm going to try my hardest to get out a second chapter tomorrow, but no promises.
> 
> Cheers, everyone, and happy New Year!
> 
> *this chapter was updated on 2-2-2021*

11 BBY

Music hummed through the cantina at a splintering decibel, distorted to the point of unintelligible. The only light came from the cracked and out-dated holoscreens that lined the walls and cast everything in an uneasy shade of blue. It wasn’t a place many beings would voluntarily find themselves, but choice was a high luxury this far down beneath the surface of Coruscant.

From her vantage point at the entrance, Captain Talin Gorv scanned the room in search of her contact. She wasn’t normally one to gamble, but if she had to guess she’d put her credits on the only conscious guy in the room being her informant. He sat stiff and shifty by himself at a small table at the back of the cantina. Stepping carefully, she made her way across the room, her boots sticking slightly to the floor.

“Whatchya havin’?” a listless Rodian called out from behind the bar. Talin waved him off; she needed full sobriety to get through her business here.

“You’re not an easy guy to get in contact with, friend,” she said as she slipped into the chair opposite the man.

“Were you followed?” he asked in lieu of greeting, his voice harsh and accented. Umbaran maybe? His pale skin and bald head seemed to confirm such an assumption, but the few Umbarans Talin had met had been severe isolationists and not likely to leave their homeworld unless forced. What had brought this guy to the seedy underbelly of the Imperial capital?

“Relax,” Talin urged. “I value anonymity just as much as you do. I took care to stay in the shadows.”

The man grumbled something in his native tongue, but ultimately let some of the tension out of his gaunt frame. Good. The last thing she needed was this guy bolting before she got her info. She didn’t know what she’d do if she had to track down another informant.

Templing her fingers in front of her, Talin leaned across the table towards the Umbaran. “Do you have what I asked for?”

“Do you have my payment?” was the swift response.

“You’ll get your credits, don’t worry.”

A grunt. Then the man pulled a holodisc from the folds of his cloak and placed it on the table.

“Building schematics, guard schedules, and basic clearance codes. Everything you need to get into the Imperial archives.”

“And getting out?”

The man stayed quiet for a moment, refusing to meet her eye.

“It’s...complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Talin asked, leaning back in her chair. “Speak quick, or you’ll leave here a dead man instead of a rich one.”

“Alright, alright. Look, the codes for the archive might be a bit outdated. I can’t guarantee you won’t trip an alarm when you enter. The closest security team is a couple floors up, so you won’t be caught immediately, but you’ll still only have moments to grab whatever it is you’re after and get far enough away as to not arouse suspicion.”

“What’s the problem? My crew always knew we were going to have to move quickly in order to pull this off.”

“The archive is the catch. Have you seen it? The scale of the place?”

She shook her head no.

 _"T_ _hat_ is the archive.” He brought up a schematic of the senate building and zoomed into the appropriate place.

Hells. It took up the entire level. Talin raised her arm and waved towards the bar in hopes of getting the Rodian’s attention. It might be time for that drink. Her mind reeled, trying to piece it all together—the timing, the massive extent of the archives, the sheer improbability that they could actually pull this off—as the holo spun lazily in front of her. When she finally had a glass of whatever swill they were serving in this place, she looked back at her Umbaran informant.

“Okay,” she said simply, “let’s talk options. You’re too smart, or at least too worried about your own well-being, to have met with me without having thought out a few solutions for me. Not if you want to get off this rock with your life.”

The man paled even more at that last statement, though Talin hadn’t meant it as a threat from her. With a quick clearing of his throat, he leaned across the table and dropped his voice down low.

“In order to get in and out in time, you need to know _exactly_ what you’re looking for and _exactly_ where to look for it,” he said, his strange pale eyes boring into hers.

“I know what I’m looking for,” she shot back defensively.

“Yes, but do you know how to locate it? Do you know how the archive is organized and how to navigate it?”

Talin could only shake her head. Kriff. Why had she thought this was going to be easy? Or, if not easy, at least simpler than whatever plan the Umbaran was leading her towards.

“You need a guide,” he urged. “Someone that can lead you straight to what you’re after so you can get out quickly.”

“So what? We reprogram a droid? Take a guard hostage?”

He shook his head. “Too risky, especially if you want to leave no trace. No, you need someone from the _outside_ who knows how to navigate the archives.”

“Quit speaking in circles, Umbaran, and just tell me what you have in mind.”

The man smiled then, a slightly grotesque motion that stretched the already severe lines of his white face into even deeper.

“What do you know of Cloud City?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are Umbarans isolationists? I really couldn't find a definitive yes or no in my research on the near-human species, but I recently rewatched General Krell arc of TCW which is set on Umbara and everything about them just screams "Leave me and my family ALONE". My headcanon for this is simply that Umbarans believe they are better than the rest of the galaxy, hence the super unique and advanced tech, as well as the continued use of their native language instead of fully transitioning to Galactic Basic.
> 
> Speaking of headcanon: does the Imperial Senate building even have an archives? My argument is yes, and it's massive because knowledge is power. Subsequently, other worlds' archives are substantially smaller and outdated, ensuring that the Empire has control of what the rest of the galaxy knows/understands. But more on that next time...
> 
> Pronunciation guide:  
> Talin = Tah-linn


	2. The Archivist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemmaca Silmore is quite content with her life as Ilyrnia Durst, junior archivist, on Bespin, Cloud City. If only she didn't have to lie to everyone around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! I know, it's been over week since the last chapter. I just had the hardest time getting the words to leave my head and become reality.
> 
> As always, don't hesitate to drop a comment if you have a question!
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> *This chapter was updated on 2-4-2021*

11BBY

Jemmaca Silmore took a deep breath as she entire the dim interior of the Cloud City archives. The door zipped shut behind her, cutting off the hectic bustle of the other inhabitants going about their usual morning business at this level of the city. Already she could feel her spirit calming, her heart slowing to match her surroundings—a trick her father had taught her whenever she'd been restless as a child.

“That you, girl? It’s about time you showed up,” came a gentle teasing voice from within the precarious shelves stacked high with various holos, data-tapes, and artifacts.

“I’m actually on time for once, Folla. You’re just here early,” Jem shot back with a small laugh as she unwound the scarf that had been protecting her hair. Shaking out her curls, she turned as her mentor emerged from the shelves with arms laden with an unwieldy crate. Jem rushed to help the older woman.

“Hmmph. You’d have been here early too if you’d bothered to check the delivery manifest. Then you’d have known  _ this  _ was arriving today.” Jem felt her cheeks color at Folla’s words. In most aspects, Jem was extremely proud of her work as a junior archivist, especially considering there was rarely enough work in their little archive to warrant Folla needing an apprentice. The two often joked that the archives were a long forgotten relic in the bustling city. But the shipments of new materials that arrived periodically were constantly a source of confusion for Jem. Was it necessarily her fault if the materials that arrived were often different from the manifest or missing all together?

“Relax, girl,” Folla said, “I’m only teasing you. This shipment wouldn’t have been on the…  _ official _ manifest, so you couldn’t have known it was coming regardless.”

_ What the hells was that supposed to mean?  _ But Folla only gave her a mischievous smile before lowering herself into a nearby chair.

“Go ahead and open it. I’m just going to rest here for a bit.”

Jem gave her mentor a cautious sideways glance. She wasn’t quite sure how old Folla, a Falleen female, was; her main understanding of biology and life spans was geared toward human life and not the lives of other species—a fact she was increasingly embarrassed by and rapidly trying to resolve with her own reading. With her white hair and cane, Jem felt fairly certain Folla would be considered an elder of her species, but she could also still have dozens of years left in her lifespan. Regardless, Jem fetched her a glass of water before turning her attention back to the mysterious crate.

It was unremarkable, dark gray and not marked with any sort of insignia. But it also didn't have any hover technology attached, which was why Folla had been forced to carry it to the table rather than glide it along. Interesting. Hover technology was standard in shipping these days, allowing items to be moved and secured more easily, without the use of heavy equipment. For a crate to not have hover capabilities, it must be extremely old. Jem rested her hands on the crate.

“What’s in it?” she asked, but Folla just waved her hand and sipped at her water, clearly telling Jem to just open it. Punching the necessary buttons on the side of the crate, Jem unlocked the lid and pulled it aside.

“Oh  _ kriff _ . Are those…?” She looked up, completely speechless.

Packed tightly together inside the crate were books—real and true bound-paper books. She had never seen anything like it. Paper books had gone out of production centuries ago after tech like data-tapes and flimsiplast became a more universal way to share and store information. The musty scent of glue and paper wafted up from the crate and made Jem’s head swim. Books were ancient relics, even thought of as sacred by some cultures. So what were these doing here in their tiny archive on Cloud City?

When pressed, Folla’s only response was frustratingly vague. “I have my ways and my reasons. Now come, let’s get these new additions organized and catalogued before the day is done.”

It was not an easy task. For one thing, Jem wasn’t used to dealing with the analog format. Instead of quickly scrolling through data to find the publication info, she now had to manually locate it and input it into the databank. For another, a majority of the texts were in obscure or outdated languages and dialects, so the pair was forced to rely on bulky translator pads outfitted with Protocol droid systems to decipher each text. By the time half the afternoon had burned away, Jem’s neck was stiff and her head ached. She’d have given anything for a hot cup of caf. What she got instead was a visit from Melli.

“Greetings, intrepid researchers!” Comelli Zerna was known as a great many things within the upper echelon of the Cloud City elite—gifted academy student, skilled Sabac player, and the darling daughter of one of the city’s wealthiest business men—but to Jem she was just a dear friend. When Jem had first arrived in Cloud City almost two years ago, without a plan or purpose, it was this young girl that had introduced her to Folla and suggested a position as junior archivist. She was also the first person Jem had lied to.

“Hi, Melli. Just get out of class?” Jem smiled as her friend skidded to a stop before her work station. Melli’s academy uniform, designed to be a crisp yet comfortable jumpsuit of white and gray fabric, had been heavily modified by its owner over the years. The sleeves were cut off at the shoulders to reveal slender blue arms, and she had embroidered golden red thread in a grass-like pattern around the neck and on either side of the central zipper. Though she had spent the majority of her young life in Cloud City, Melli still felt a fierce connection to her native moon of Pantora. Even her pale lavender hair expressed her Pantoran heritage, dressed up in a traditional headdress rather than the regulation bun worn by other long-haired academy students. Jem often wondered if academy officials even bothered to issue Melli citations for her uniform anymore or if they had long since given up.

“Hello, Ilyrnia. Hello, Folla. You’ll never guess what—oh! Are those  _ real _ books?” While Melli was immediately distracted by the piles of texts spread across the table, Jem felt as though a sheet of glass had slid over her mind.

_ Ilyrnia _ . It was the name she had given Melli two years ago when she had first arrived in Cloud City; before that she had been Katryl. For two years she had been Ilyrnia—she should be used to it by now. But here, in the archives with Folla (who affectionately only called her “girl”), was the closest she had felt to being Jemmaca since she had left her homeworld seven years prior. She had been just a child then, barely fifteen, and the chance to not feel like she was constantly putting on a fake front was almost intoxicating. For the first time in years she had felt whole and safe; she had felt like Jem. It sickened her that she had to keep being Ilyrnia here, that she had to keep lying to Melli and Folla, but she knew from experience that they wouldn’t understand if she fully revealed her past.

“Oh, Ilyrnia, how lucky you are to be surrounded by such artifacts each day,” Melli said dramatically while throwing herself into a nearby chair.

“Lucky,” Jem said quietly in return. “Now what was it that we’d never guess?”

The young Pantoran’s violet eyes lit up.

“Father has  _ insisted _ you join us for dinner, Ilyrnia! No more excuses—you can’t say no this time.”

Jem stood up quickly, wracking her brain for any reason she had left to object. It wasn’t so much that she feared Melli’s father—there were far more sinister individuals in power within Cloud City compared to Rylcho Zerna, a man who had earned his fortune from a successful Pantoran tourism campaign during the Clone Wars—but a person in hiding shouldn’t try to do anything to make their presence so…present. Melli had invited Jem to dine with her and her father many times in the past, but Jem had always found some sort of excuse to call off. Now the invitation was coming straight from the source.

“I suppose I can’t say no,” she said finally. She hoped her smile looked sincere instead of pained. Melli didn’t seem to notice; she just jumped up and clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh,  _ wonderful _ _!_ Father will be so pleased. I suspect he was starting to think I had made you up in my mind. He keeps telling me, ‘Cloud City doesn’t have an archive, so how can you have a friend that works there?’, but obviously he’s just forgotten about this place like everyone else on this silly station.” Melli was pacing at this point, speaking faster and faster with each step. “I’ll have to let the kitchen know to prepare a meal for you—you’re not allergic to anything, are you?—and the guards will have to be alerted to your presence as well, but we can sort out all those details. Now you’ll need to wear something nice, of course, but don’t feel like—”

“Careful, girl, or you’ll forget to take a breath,” Folla laughed.

“Practical as always, Folla. Thank you.” With an exaggerated breath, Melli turned her attention back to Jem. “I’ll work out all the details, don’t you worry. Just keep your comm on and I’ll send you directions to our apartment and security clearance before dinner begins. Okay?”

“Okay, but—”

“Until next time, my esteemed friends! May the stars guide you.”

And with that, she was gone as quickly and dramatically as she had arrived.

“What…just happened?” Jem asked.

“I believe you’ve just agreed to have dinner with the Zernas in the upper levels,” came Folla’s infuriatingly calm response.

“Yes, but… ‘Security clearance’? ‘Dress  _ nice’ _ ? What does that even mean? What’s wrong with what I normally wear?” Jem looked down at her usual faded black jumpsuit and patched green jacket.

“Nothing, and that’s the problem. Everything’s a show up there; you’re going to have to dress the part if you don’t want to stand out.” Sometimes Folla was a little too perceptive for Jem’s taste.

“I don’t really have the credits for a new outfit.”

“No, but maybe Saryve can lend you something. She should be back from her shift by now.”

It was a good plan, Jem couldn’t deny it. Their neighbor, Saryve, spent her days making the gruel the miners ate mid-shift and her evenings on the arm of various high rollers on the casino floor. If anyone could get Jem outfitted for dinner, it was Saryve. Jem hoped she was in a giving mood.

Jem looked at her chrono and swore softly. It was already later than she thought.

“Folla, I—”

“Go, girl. You’re going to need to hurry if you want to be on time.”

Jem gave the older woman a grateful smiling before grabbing her hair scarf and dashing towards the door. “Don’t stay too late. The books will still be here tomorrow.”

“I won’t. I don’t think my eyes could take the strain,” Folla laughed. “Have fun tonight. And… Ilyrnia?”

Jem turned, surprised to hear her call her anything other than ‘girl’. “Yeah?”

“Stay safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with switching to Jem's voice. Talin is so confident that when it came time to write as Jem I panicked. There are a couple places where she comes across as very robotic and weird, but I did my best to fix that in editing. The ironic part is that Jem started off as a self-based character; they do say we are our worst critics after all....
> 
> I'm super excited for the next chapter (a lot more action, I promise), and I hope you are too! I can't guarantee when I'm going to have it done (I have two big editing contracts starting on Monday), but I'm going to aim for sometime next week.
> 
> Happy January, friends, and stay safe out there!
> 
> Pronunciation guide:  
> Jemmaca = Jem-uh-kuh  
> Saryve = Sair-eh-vay


	3. The Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worlds collide as Jem and Talin decide whether or not to join forces to save the people they care about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super jazzed for this one, friends! And it came together much quicker than anticipated. I already have Chapter Four mapped out, so with any luck there won't be a long wait!
> 
> As always, stay classy.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> *Updated 2-8-21

11 BBY

Jem looked at her reflection again and tugged at the sleeves of her borrowed blouse. She hoped what she had chosen would be considered “nice” enough for an evening with the Zernas. Overall, it felt like a safe choice, much to Saryve’s dismay. The young woman had practically wilted when Jem had politely declined a blinding silver jumpsuit that left a bit too little to the imagination for her own taste.

The only sense of flair came from the golden shimmer silk blouse Jem wore now. In the bright white lights of the upper city it would still probably shine like spun gold, but Jem had primarily chosen it for the sleeves. They bloomed out from her shoulders drastically before cinching back snuggly around her wrists; perfect for concealing her beskar gauntlets. Not for the first time, Jem was grateful that Cloud City fashion favored long sleeves and jackets inside the temperature controlled station.

The rest of the outfit was fairly simple: a long vest of dark gray wool with a high neck and red piping along the edges, soft black leggings, and her own scuffed brown boots. There was nothing to be done about the boots—Saryve’s feet were too small for Jem to have borrowed a nicer pair and she wasn’t about to waste her credits on flashy footwear.

 _Maybe Melli and her father won’t notice_ , she thought. _Maybe they’ll be too blinded by the blouse to pay attention to my shoes._

As Jem piled her curls into a haphazard knot at the back of her head, she heard her comm link chime from her vest pocket. She quickly skewered the hair in place with a set of ornamental sticks that looked like delicate silver tree branches, then reached for her comm. It was Melli.

 _“Ilyrnia!”_ came her friend’s voice, small and tinny over the receiver. _“Thank the stars—someone here has already started up the bar droids, so the cocktails are just flowing through the crowd. If one more of Father’s associates comes up to me wanting to ‘invest in my future’, I might spontaneously combust. You’re welcome to arrive anytime of course, but please say you’ll come soon and save me from this misery.”_

Jem bit back a groan. Cocktails? Crowd? This was shaping up to be more than just the simple dinner with Melli and her father she’d anticipated.

“I was just getting ready to leave,” she said back over the comm, hoping she at least sounded excited.

_“Wonderful! I’ve already sent directions to your datapad—I know how you prefer tactile instructions. And your ID card has been updated with a security clearance, so the guards know to expect you."_

Jem reviewed the instructions before slipping her datapad into a small bag that rested at her hip, the strap secured over the opposite shoulder. “Okay, I’ll be there soon, let me just—kriff.”

_"What is it?"_

“My ID card. It’s not in my bag or any of my pockets. I must have left it on my desk at the archives.”

_“Again."_

“Wait a moment, that’s not—”

_“Admit it: you’d lose your head if it wasn't permanently attached to your body.”_

Melli was laughing now and Jem couldn’t help but join in.

“Fine, I admit it. Look, the archives aren’t completely out of my way. I’ll just swing by, grab my ID, and be right out the door again.”

" _Alright, but please hurry. Mr. Stalter is on his fourth glass of wine and he’s already spent a considerable amount of time describing my eyes to me. I shudder to think what he’ll wax on about next."_

“Copy that. Don’t worry, I’ll be there soon,” Jem said before disconnecting the commlink.

With one last glance at her reflection, she exited her quarters. At this hour, the hallways, lifts, and transport rails were packed with people headed home from a day of work or school. Jem moved with purpose and cut quickly through the crowd. She reached the archives in what felt like record time.

While during the day visitors could walk right into the archives—not that it happened all that often (if at all) most days—the space was locked during non-business hours. Jem and Folla had special access on their ID cards that let them into the archives at any time. Of course, Jem was without her ID at the moment. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how one chose to look at the situation), this was not the first time she had been locked out of the archives. It happened on enough of a regular basis that she had learned how to bypass the lock through the control panel.

But now, as she knelt in front of the controls, she noticed its display was green instead of red. The archives were unlocked. Jem made her way through the door, taking in the dim lights and the books that were still scattered across the front tables where she had left them earlier. But the room was empty.

“Folla?” Jem called out into the silence. “It’s me. I forgot my ID. I thought you promised you weren’t going to stay late?”

Jem stood still and listened hard, but there was no response. Could Folla have forgotten to lock the doors when she left? And left all the lights on? It wasn’t likely. Then, from the back storage room, she heard scuffling, a muffled grunt, and a voice saying “ _Quiet!_ ” in a harsh whisper.

Something was wrong.

Jem removed her bag and placed it on a nearby table, not wanting it to get in her way. Then she crouched low and made her way to the perimeter of the room.

 _You’re being ridiculous_ , a small part of herself insisted. Folla had many friends in the city; maybe one of them had stopped by for tea at the end of their shift. And Folla hadn’t answered her call because… That was the one variable she couldn’t account for, and it’s what put her on edge now. Something was wrong here, and she had to make sure Folla was alright.

Skirting along the edges of the room, Jem made her way towards the storage area. Propped up against one of the walls was a piece of pipe they often used to force open the air vents when the place got too stuffy. Jem picked it up silently, gripping it in such a way that it felt almost perfectly balanced in her hands. It never hurt to have a weapon.

As she got closer to the door of the storage area, Jem began to hear voices—voices she didn’t recognize.

“...nothing to worry about, Moss, just calm down,” came a female’s voice, though she didn’t sound too calm herself.

“I agree with Mosstan, boss.” A male’s voice this time, though distorted and pitched incredibly low, as if he was speaking through a modulator. “How are you suggesting we get this lady out of here without attracting any unwanted attention?”

“Let me think! Maybe we can…” The woman kept talking through some sort of plan, but Jem had stopped listening. Who were these people? And where was Folla?

Staying low, Jem peered out around the edge of the door. In the center of the room were three individuals, all facing away from her: a Trandoshan male with scaly orange skin who was holding a blaster; a cloaked and helmeted being of indeterminate species, though Jem suspected this was the male with the modulated voice judging by the helmet; and a tall dark-skinned human woman with close-cropped black hair pacing in front of the other two. When the woman turned to change directions, Jem caught sight of orange diamond shapes tattooed beneath each eye and a matching slender triangle that started at the base of her hairline and ended just above her brow. A Kiffar, Jem suspected, but her knowledge of the near-human species did not extend much beyond physical appearance.

Jem kept her focus trained on the woman, trying to determine whether she recognized her. It was hopeless really; Jem was a recluse at best and besides that had a terrible memory for faces. Something else tugged at the edge of her vision. A pair of boots—no, not just boots, but _legs_ inside the boots—stuck out from behind a crate.

Folla’s boots. Folla’s legs. Jem could barely breathe at the thought of her mentor and friend lying prone on the floor next to these three strangers, at least one of which was armed with a blaster. Her muscles tensed and her vision burned red. Before she could think, Jem dove through the doorway and charged straight for the trio, pipe raised. Yelling senselessly, she brought the pipe down across the back of the Trandoshan’s knees. Her next swing connected squarely with the cloaked figure’s ribs. Both dropped to the floor immediately in groans of pain. The woman was a trickier target. She nimbly stepped out of reach of Jem’s pipe and circled behind her. As Jem turned, a brutal kick landed on her right elbow, causing her to cry out and drop the pipe. Two arms snaked around her torso and neck. While her injured arm was pinned against her side, the left was still somewhat free.

“Relax, little warrior,” the woman said into her ear, “we just want to— _oof!"_

Jem cut her off with a blow to the face from her left forearm. Under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have been a hard enough hit to cause any damage. But Jem, as always, was wearing her beskar.

The arms loosened their hold just enough for Jem to break free. She quickly scooped up the pipe and turned, standing protectively over her fallen mentor.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What have you done to Folla?”

***

Talin let the blood flow freely from her face and drip from her chin as she regarded the pipe-weilding little demon that had just taken out her and her crew in a matter of moments. Small in stature, almost child-like, but most certainly a young adult woman. Flattened dark curls fell around her round face and set off the paleness of her skin. She gripped the pipe tightly and kept her stance low and steady over the Falleen woman, her expression fierce. But there was something else behind the fiery gaze in her amber eyes: trepidation. Here was a girl who was clearly skilled in combat, but it made her nervous to act in such a way. Interesting. The sleeve of her blouse had fallen away at her left wrist and Talin caught a glimpse of dark steel with patches of green paint peeking out. _Very_ interesting.

The girl must have noticed Talin’s gaze on her exposed wrist, because she shifted her stance so that the pipe was aimed towards the floor and her sleeves fell forward to conceal the armor once again.

“Who are you?” she asked again, her glare centered on Talin.

Talin heard her crew rise loudly from the floor behind her—Mosstan with a great deal of hissing and curses, and Nifty wheezing heavily into his voice modulator.

“You’re dead, girl,” Mosstan growled, “we don’t have to tell you—”

But Talin raised her hand to cut him off. Her mind scrambled, trying to make sense of the new situation she found herself in and deciphering what she could do now to still get out on top. The Falleen woman they’d come for lay unconscious in a heap on the floor, possibly injured. She tried not to wince at that fact. It had been an accident, a miscommunication between herself and Mosstan that led to the old woman being hit with a stun blast, but still, Talin felt responsible. And now there was the girl—the girl with the pipe and the scowl and the gleaming gauntlets hidden beneath her clothes. Talin didn’t know who this girl was, but as for _what_ she was… If her hunch was correct, bringing this girl on board could save Talin a lot of time and money on this mission.

" _Verd ori'shya beskar'gam,"_ Talin said to her now, acutely aware that she was probably butchering the pronunciation.

The girl blinked, surprise and fear lighting up her features before she slammed down a protective mask of indifference. She shook her head and didn’t respond, but Talin had seen enough to convince her. This girl had understood her and the Mando’a phrase she'd recited.

“Who. _Are_. You.” The words were harsher now, coming through gritted teeth.

“My name is Captain Talin Gorv. This is my crew: Mosstan Rowsspr and Nifty,” she responded simply. Her crew let out subdued grunts, clearly surprised she was revealing their identities to their attacker, but ultimately remained quiet. “And you are?”

The girl hesitated for a moment before responding, “Ilyrnia Durst, junior archivist. Now it’s my turn to ask a question: why are you here and what have you done to Folla?”

Another archivist? This was getting better by the moment.

“That’s two questions.”

“Answer me!” Ilyrnia Durst, junior archivist, raised her pipe menacingly.

“Okay, okay,” Talin held up her hands in surrender. “Our informant told us the archivist here in Cloud City would be able to help us locate information we need in the Imperial archives for our mission.”

The girl blinked. “The _Imperial_ archives? You’re insane. And your informant was wrong. Folla’s never even been to Coruscant.”

“Really? So you’re telling me this _isn’t_ Folla Minns, former head archivist of the Galactic Republic archives? Then I must not be Talin Gorv, captain of the _Vigilance_.”

Ilyrnia’s scowl deepened, clearly not appreciating the humor. “Fine, say you’re right and Folla _could_ help you in the Imperial archives. What was your plan here? Knock out an old woman and take her hostage?”

“We had no plans to harm her, believe me,” Talin said gently. “We had hoped to talk with her, convince her to join us willingly. The stun blast was an… unfortunate accident.”

 _“'An unfortunate accident’?_ You could have killed her!”

“You’re right, and I apologize, but—”

“You’re not taking her. I won’t let you.” It was the statement of a child, something Talin’s three-year-old son might say in response to her taking away one of his toys. But here she needed to move cautiously, not wanting to inspire Ilyrnia to another bout of pipe combat.

Moss, unfortunately, was less tactful, and chose that moment to raise his blaster and speak up. “Shut it, girl, or I’ll stun you too and we’ll take both of you with us.”

Ilyrnia tensed and adjusted her grip on the pipe.

“Wait.” Talin took a step forward. “What’s your goal here? Take us all out and call the authorities? I think you’ll find you have much less to bargain with than we do. You want to protect your friend _and_ yourself? Make us an offer we can’t refuse.”

Talin had chosen those last words carefully. If they wanted Ilyrnia to cooperate, she needed to believe the next move was her idea. She watched as the girl’s mind spun, her eyes slightly unfocused while she added up all the possibilities.

“Take me instead.”

“You?” Talin asked with feigned surprise. “Offer me something useful, kid, or I’ll give Moss the order.”

Behind her a blaster charged with a soft whine.

“No, wait!” Ilyrnia pleaded. “You said you need Folla to help you find something in the Imperial Archives, right? I can do that. It stands to reason that both archives—the one here and the one on Coruscant—would be organized in the same fashion if they were both originally curated by the same person. I’ve worked with Folla for two years, I know her organizational system. Plus, I’m younger and more agile; I can handle myself in whatever situation we find ourselves in. So take me instead, and I _will_ help you locate the information you’re searching for.”

Talin paused and acted like she was thinking over the idea. It was exactly as she had hoped for; the young archivist—and a Mando one at that—had willingly volunteered to join the mission that could save Talin’s son.

She held out her hand for the girl to shake, which she did.

“Welcome aboard, Ilyrnia Durst, junior archivist. Now let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything's finally starting to come together, isn't it? Though our leading ladies are definitely still playing their cards close to their chests. Next chapter is shaping up to be a whirlwind of information as we get to know our crew a little bit better, so if you're still feeling a bit lost don't worry—it's all by design.
> 
> A little bit of Mando'a for you today!  
> Verd ori'shya beskar'gam. - "A warrior is more than his armor"
> 
> Talin's understanding of this phrase (and it's pronunciation) are shoddy at best, but Jem defintely felt it like an ironic kick in the teeth, as we'll see soon.
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> ***EDIT: Jem's armor was previously red, but I changed it to green


	4. The "Vigilance"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jem tries to find her feet (and her purpose) after being introduced to the crew of the "Vigilance".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers, few as you may be! I recently launched a Tumblr blog in support of this little fic where I'll be sharing any reference images and sources for each chapter. Find me @news4bees and don't forget to say hello!
> 
> Cheers, and stay safe out there!
> 
> *Updated 2-24-21

11 BBY

Jem shouldn’t have been surprised by how easily captain Gorv and her crew moved through the city toward the docks. Cloud City had always been a place of transients and strangers—what were three more questionable characters added to the mix?  _ Make that four _ , she thought glumly, adding herself to the tally.

She had to practically run to keep up with her new crewmates—all of whom had been gifted with much longer legs than herself—as they blazed a path down the center of another endlessly long hallway. Sentients and droids on both sides wisely stepped out of the way when they could, though Jem noticed more than a few angry glares and muttered curses. There were a handful of beings that weren’t as fortunate and they were jostled out of the way by Mosstan’s broad shoulders.

“If your goal was to remain inconspicuous,” Jem panted, “running people over isn’t exactly the way to do it.”

“We need to move quickly,” said the modulated voice of the one called Nifty. He turned his head slightly as he spoke so that Jem felt his glare through his helmet. “We don’t have much time left.”

Jem fought the urge to give him a rude gesture in return.

Nifty had made it abundantly clear, multiple times now, that he felt it was Jem’s fault they had been forced to abandon a calm exit in favor of a hurried.

“What about Folla?” she’d asked after shaking Captain Gorv’s hand. There was something very final about that handshake, something Jem wasn’t ready to unpack just yet.

“She’ll be fine,” Nifty had said quickly. “Captain, we have to move. Now.” He’d gestured vaguely at his chrono.

“We can’t just leave her here,” Jem had protested. “She’s injured. At least let me call her a medical droid.”

Captain Gorv had allowed her to make the call over her commlink, but then instructed her to leave it behind rather than return it to her vest pocket.

“We can’t have anyone track us through that comm. It stays, along with any other devices you have on you.”

Jem had left the comm alongside her datapad, which was still in the small bag resting on the table where she’d placed it when she’d first arrived. At the doorway, she’d turned back to face the archives one last time. At that moment, her heartbeat felt hollow in her chest and grief like ash coated her tongue, as if a small part of her knew she’d never see this place again.

_ Be safe.  _ Had it really only been a couple hours since Folla had said those words to her?

“I’m sorry, Folla,” Jem had whispered before turning to leave with her new crewmates. She’d willed herself not to cry as her path took her farther from the life she’d known these past two years, the life she’d  _ loved _ , and from the person she’d allowed herself to become. The warbling siren of a medical droid had rung through the halls as it sped towards Folla’s location.

“Almost there,” Captain Gorv called back now, a few paces ahead of her crew, her voice slightly muffled by the scarf she’d tied around her face to hide the dried blood from her nose.

_ Thank the stars _ , Jem thought.

But instead of continuing straight towards the main landing platforms, the captain took a sharp turn down a narrow maintenance tunnel. After a quick series of turns, Jem found herself standing before an access port centered on the wall. It was colder here and Jem shivered from the layer of chilled sweat that coated her skin. Now she understood the crew’s desire for a hasty exit. While the landing platforms were the most direct route in and out of the city, they also required a landing permit for all incoming vessels. Access ports, on the other hand, were a conveniently overlooked entry point for ships that wanted to go undetected—such as those belonging to smuggling operations. Still, just because illegal docking wasn’t necessarily discouraged didn’t mean a passing security detail would ignore ships clinging to the side of the city, so it was important not to linger

Jem tried not to let the sight of the access port or its implications ruffle her. After the events of this evening, she knew she hadn’t aligned herself with the galaxy’s most upstanding citizens.

“Roxy, we’re here,” Captain Gorv said into her comm. “Open the door and get those engines running.”

“ _ Copy that, captain _ ,” said a feminine voice, though it had the tell-tale cadence of a droid.

The hatch slid open with an audible  _ swoosh  _ and revealed a short, narrow tube with a ladder along one side. The ladder was at the wrong angle to climb up, so they’d have to crawl to get inside the ship. It was going to be a tight fit for someone of Mosstan’s size, but he had managed to get off the ship this way.

“After you,” Gorv said to her with a dramatic sweep of her arm.

Crouching low, she side-stepped over the hatch before dropping to her hands and knees. She crawled forward until she reached the other side of the tube.

“Grab hold of the ladder,” the captain instructed from behind her. “When the ship levels out we’ll be able to climb through.” Then, over her comm she said, “Rox, we’re in. Let’s get out of here.”

The ship gave a gentle lurch as it detached from the access port. Jem felt her surroundings pivot until she was vertical on the ladder, then the hatch above her opened. She scrambled up and emerged into a small antechamber on the main deck of the ship. The ladder continued upward into what she assumed was the gunwell. Jem stepped out into the adjoining hall to make room for the others and took in her new surroundings. Straight ahead through a set of opened airlock doors was the cockpit, though she couldn’t make out much beyond various blinking displays from her vantage point. The hall extended on either side and curved out of sight, likely leading to the other necessary areas on the ship: crew quarters, cargo holds, the galley, and refresher. The interior was a dingy white, clean but faded, with dark gray floors that softly reflected the ambient lights that shone from industrial sconces along the curved walls. It was a comfortable space, and Jem could feel some of the tension begin to leave her body.

She was startled by a small mechanized whirring sound and looked down to see a tiny, box-shaped droid speed past her feet. It continued down the corridor and out of sight, letting out a series of squeaks and trills as it went.

“That’s Emmy,” said Captain Gorv as she stepped out of the antechamber and came up alongside her. “She’s a modified mouse droid; she takes care of any small repairs we need. Other introductions: Roxy is our co-pilot—” she gestured towards the cockpit “—you’ll meet her later. Mosstan you’ve already met, same with Nifty.”

The Trandoshan just gave Jem another one of his grunting responses before stepping past them and limping down the left hallway, but Nifty stopped next to his captain. He had removed his helmet now that they were on the ship, so Jem could finally see his face. He was a human, that was clear now, a little older than Captain Gorv she’d guess, with an angular tan face and dark hair that was shaved along the sides but longer up top. A small scar adorned his scalp just to the side of his left temple. He looked… familiar somehow, though Jem didn’t know why. He said nothing now, just gave her one more angry look before turning to follow Mosstan.

“Then there’s me, of course,” the captain continued, ignoring the tense moment. “And finally—”

“ _ Momma! _ ”

A small shape of blue linen and dark hair charged out of the cockpit and straight for them. In one swift motion, Gorv bent down, scooped up the being, and settled it on her hip. It was a boy, Jem realized, with skin the same hue as the captain’s and startling eyes of pale gray. His face was unadorned though, likely too young for the tattoos that identified his Kiffar lineage.

“Hi, baby! I missed you.” Gorv nuzzled the boy’s head with her check. Turning to Jem she said, “This is my son, Raland. Raland, can you say hi to our new friend, Ilyrnia?”

Raland ducked his head, suddenly shy, but gave her a quiet greeting and a small wave.

“Hi, Raland,” Jem replied with a wave of her own, feeling awkward. She was not good with children. “Um, how old are you?”

“THREE!” Raland shouted and held up the appropriate number of fingers, his bashful reticence dropping away immediately. He reached a chubby hand toward the scarf that was still tied around his mother’s face, but she expertly shifted her weight back so that he was out of reach. The sight of her scarlet blood and busted nose would only scare the boy.

“Three? Stars, you’re so big!” Was she doing this right? Jem honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d interacted with a being so young.

“That’s right, “Captain Gorv agreed. “And someday he’ll be big and strong and caring and…” She punctuated each adjective in the list with a gentle poke to the boy’s belly until he was laughing uncontrollably.

“Like daddy!” he squealed.

“That’s right, baby, just like daddy.” The captain’s voice was light, but Jem saw fractured pain in her brown eyes. Then she turned back to Jem. “I need to put him to bed, but you’re welcome to anything in the galley and the refresher is down that way too.” She pointed in the opposite direction of where Mosstan and Nifty had disappeared. “Meet me in the cockpit whenever you’re ready and we’ll talk details.”  
Jem nodded and turned to go.

“Ilyrnia?” Captain Gorv called, sounding hesitant. Jem glanced back over her shoulder and caught the other woman’s gaze. “Thank you.”

As she walked off, Jem felt as though she were in a daze. She grabbed a piece of fruit jerky from a cupboard in the galley and curled up in a curved seat at the holotable, her knees drawn up to her chest. Scenes from the past hour—had it really only been an hour since she’d last spoken to Melli?—spun through her mind like a holoreel, but she kept coming back to the handshake, to the agreement she’d made over Folla’s unconscious body. Jem didn’t regret the deal—she’d do it again a thousand times over if it meant protecting Folla—but the weight of her choice was beginning to sink in now that she was still.

What had she been  _ thinking _ ?

Her jaw worked overtime to tear strips from the fruit leather with her teeth. Its sharp, sweet flavor burst across her tongue and made her lips sticky.

The problem, Jem decided, was that she still didn’t know the details of the mission she’d volunteered her skills and life for. Stealing information from the Imperial Archives could mean anything. What if the information they were after was dangerous? What if she had aligned herself with some sort of terrorist cell? Jem had to admit that the thought of Captain Gorv and her crew planting bombs at Imperial factories or destroying communication towers didn’t exactly fit with the family image she’d just been introduced to. But she’d also learned long ago that people were unpredictable. You never truly knew anyone. She was certainly no stranger to secrets.

_ Verd ori'shya beskar'gam. _

Though the pronunciation of the phrase had been horrid, Jem had to wonder at the captain’s usage. Had she understood the meaning of the words she’d spoken, or had she simply made a connection between a girl with Mandalorian armor and an old phrase in Mando’a?

Jem tugged restlessly at her sleeves, as if by confirming her gauntlets were still hidden she could somehow salvage her life as Ilyrnia, as Folla’s assistant, as anything other than a Mandalorian coward.

_ Verd ori'shya beskar'gam. _

Her mother used to say that to her, she remembered now, whenever she would come home with scraped knuckles or a split lip.

“Use your head,  _ ad’ika _ , not your fists to settle disagreements,” she’d say while holding a bacta patch gently to whatever injury Jem had acquired that day.

“But,  _ buir _ , they —”

Her mother would shut down her protests with an admonishing look. “We are a peaceful people now, Jemma. We don’t need to fight to solve our problems. Remember that.”

Her parents had always taught her that  _ beskar’gam _ did not make her a Mandalorian, that their culture was about so much more than the countless wars and endless bloodshed of their past history. But their pacifist notions had done nothing to save them from a public execution at the hands of militant Mandos.

_ Verd ori’shya beskar’gam. _

Was Jem a warrior? Captain Gorv must have assumed she was when she’d spoken those lost words, but Jem wasn’t so sure herself. She’d always seen her gauntlets as purely ceremonial, a single reminder of her past and the person she’d been scared to become if she had remained on Mandalore.

So what was her purpose here? She was beginning to think Captain Gorv had more in mind for her than being a guide in the Imperial Archives—and maybe it was time to find out just what that might be. Swallowing her last bite of fruit jerky, Jem got to her feet and made her way back to the cockpit.

“...until we reach the fuel depot, captain,” the droid was saying as she entered.

“Thanks, Rox,” Gorv said. “Bring her in slowly. Moss thinks the port stabilizers are firing a bit weak and I don’t want to get her too banged up.”

Jem cleared her throat and the captain turned from where she was bent over a navigational display at the front of the cockpit. She’d taken the time since they’d last spoken to remove her scarf and clean the blood from her face, though fresh bruises had begun to sink in on her cheeks.

“Ah, Ilyrnia—great. This is Roxy, our co-pilot. Roxy, meet Ilyrnia, our new guide.”

An RX pilot droid was secured to the floor to the left of the captain, the flight seat that would normally be there having been removed to make room for the droid’s wide base. The RX unit kept its three arms on the controls but swiveled its head to face her.

“Isn’t she a little short for a Mand—”

Gorv kicked Roxy’s base with a hollow clang, effectively cutting off whatever statement she’d been about to make about Jem’s height.

“What’s next, captain?” Jem asked, choosing to ignore the comment.

“Have a seat,” she replied. “And, please, call me Talin.” Talin took the seat opposite Jem at the rear of the cockpit, rather than the pilot’s seat.

How interesting… A captain that didn’t pilot her ship and seemed uncomfortable with the title. Jem had met a number of puffed-up captains over the years; they tended to revel in feeling like the self-important rulers of their own little kingdom amidst the stars.

“We’ll be making a stop at a refueling station at the edge of the Javin sector. Once we have our fuel and our… supplies, we’ll be on our way to Coruscant.”

Jem gritted her teeth. She was clearly going to have to pry the mission details out of the Kiffar woman.

Voice sharp, she asked, “And after? What’s your plan here, Talin? You can’t seriously expect we’ll be able to simply stroll into the archives and—”

“Coming up on Javin depot, captain,” Roxy interrupted.

“Excellent.” Talin jumped up. “Let’s get her hooked up, Rox, nice and easy.”

Beyond the cockpit, Jem could see what must have been the fueling station growing bigger as they approached. It looked almost like a miniature Cloud City, with enough docks and fuel lines for at least two dozen ships of various sizes and classifications.

With precise movements, Roxy flipped a complicated series of switches and levers as she guided the  _ Vigilance _ into an empty fueling bay. The ship shuddered slightly as it landed on the platform, then there was a solid clank as it connected to the fuel line. The remaining two crew members had entered the cockpit as the ship settled, and Talin turned to address them.

“Nifty, Barnteel said to meet him at the storage lockers on level nine. He knows about the change we’ve made—” she cocked a thumb at Jem “—so everything should be in order, but be sure to check the package all the same. And I’ve already paid him, so don’t let him try to convince you otherwise. Moss, while we’re here you might as well take a look at those port stabilizers. The last thing we want is—”

Behind her, Roxy started to spark and smoke, the lights of her face display flashing wildly.

“Kriff, looks like that corroded circuit finally blew, and not a moment too soon. Change of plans: Moss, take Roxy in for a quick repair. We can’t stay here for long, so have them just bypass the damage and patch her up for now. We can get a new circuit put in her after this is all over.”

Mosstan (clearly not one for words, Jem was learning) simply nodded as he crossed the cockpit. He flipped a small switch at the base of the RX droid. There was a quiet hum as Roxy lifted slightly off the floor, then he pushed her out of the cockpit after Nifty.

“Hover mags,” Talin explained. “Keeps her locked in place when they’re reversed while allowing us to move her around easily when we need to. Rox tends to get a little jealous if she’s stuck in here while the rest of us are in the living area. And she’s one hell of a sabbac player.”

Jem nodded, not quite listening. It was just the two of them now. Time for some answers.

“What do you need from me?” she asked.

“Not much to do right now. If you want to rest, we can clear out Nifty’s cabin. He won’t be happy about bunking with Moss but it’s really the only suitable option,” Talin said.

“I meant what do you need from me in terms of this mission. I volunteered to be your guide to keep Folla out of this, but you haven't told me what it is you’re wanting to accomplish. And I have a feeling you’ve got other plans in mind for me too—I want to know what they are.”

Talin sat back down, silent and watchful. What did she see when she looked at Jem now: a Mandalorian or an archivist? And which did Jem prefer?

She kept her face neutral and waited for the captain to respond. Talin, for her credit, mulled over the words for quite some time, eyes caught in a far off trance above her orange tattoos. Her words were slow, melodic, when she finally spoke again.

“Your presence on this mission opens up new opportunities—opportunities I haven’t decided how to approach just yet.”

“I did not ask for a riddle,  _ captain _ .”

“Then perhaps you should be more forthcoming with your own secrets, Ilyrnia Durst, junior archivist.”

Jem’s blood ran hot beneath her skin at the way Talin threw her title back in her face, and she leaned forward to look the other woman more squarely in the eye.

“My secrets—” Jem started, but she was cut off when a small voice said, “Momma?” and they both turned to find an anxious Raland hovering at the entrance to the cockpit.

Talin was the first to move, sweeping from her seat with the speed and urgency of a worried mother. It also made for a good excuse to abandon Jem and the series of stinging questions she had yet to unleash.

“What’s the matter, baby? You should be sleeping.” Talin picked up her son with a tired groan.

“The air feels funny,” he said, chewing on one of his sleeves.

“I know, baby, but it’s just all the new people outside. Okay?”

Jem tried not to stare at the mother-son pair. Clearly she knew even less about children then she’d previously thought, because their entire interaction was bizarre. Funny air?  _ Maybe Kiffar have naturally heightened perception _ , she thought,  _ or _ —

Suddenly, alarm bells rang through the cockpit and a display on her right flashed red. The three of them froze, and Raland hid his face against his mother’s neck.

“What’s going on?” Jem asked, feeling like an idiot.

“That’s the short-range communications line,” Talin answered. She stood behind Jem now and peered intensely at the holoscreen. “Someone’s trying to get our attention.”

“Who?” From her angle in the seat, the flashing screen was nearly impossible for Jem to read.

“It’s… oh, kriff,” Talin cursed, her voice barely audible.

“WHO _? _ ”

Then a voice crackled to life over the comms channel.

“ _ YT transport  _ Vigilance _ , this is Lieutenant Commander Iver of the Imperial Navy, requesting you vacate this fuel platform  _ immediately _. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guys tell I have next to zero experience writing children? I love little Raland, and he's extremely important to the story (as we'll see next time, I promise), but I'm honestly so exhausted.
> 
> I know I say these every week, but I am SO PUMPED for the next chapter. We're about to get into the nitty gritty and things are gonna get real.
> 
> It's actually taken me a lot longer to get to this part of the store than I anticipated. My original outline for chapter one turned into chapters one through three, and that's been a consistent trend with all of my outlines. So an arc that was originally supposed to take eight chapters is probably going to be closer to sixteen.
> 
> Today's Mando'a:  
> Verd ori'shya beskar'gam = "a warrior is more than his armor"  
> ad'ika = "kid, lad, boy, sweetie, darling, son, daughter, child"  
> buir = "mother/father, parent"  
> beskar'gam = "armor", literally "iron skin"


	5. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are unloaded as Jem and Talin get to the bottom of what the other is hiding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! It's been a while. Things are hectic and crazy, per usual, which is why this chapter is very overdue, but being able to come back to this little story and jump right in was exactly what I needed!
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful new beta reader, Minuet33!
> 
> As always, don't hesitate to say hi or share some love in the comments.
> 
> Enjoy!

11 BBY

All around her was chaos. Lights flashed a dangerous red from the communications display and the klaxons screamed out their grinding warning. But Jem’s thoughts were narrowed to _the Empire the Empire the Empire_. The small, logical part of her still-functioning brain told her they had nothing to be afraid of, that it was ridiculous to think they had done anything to draw the Empire’s attention. The Empire had no physical presence on Cloud City, and Jem couldn’t fathom a reality in which an Imperial officer was pulled from another sector of the system to track down a civilian crew for illegal docking and incapacitating an elderly woman. Still, Jem had seen enough of the galaxy to know the Empire had no reservations about making an example out of anyone that was in their way.

“Vigilance _, respond!”_ Lieutenant Commander Iver barked across the comms channel. He was clearly not one to have his time wasted.

Talin was the first to act. She expertly plunked Raland onto Jem’s lap, who quickly had to wrap her arms around the wiggly toddler to keep him from slipping to the floor, before reaching up to grab the comms transmitter where it was clipped to the ship’s upper display. She took a shaky breath, and Jem couldn’t help but wonder what the captain had to be worried about from the Empire.

“This is Captain Talin Gorv,” she said. “Can I ask what this is about, Lieutenant?”

“What are you doing?” Jem cried. “You don’t just ask the Empire to explain themselves—they’re the Empire!” Her hands were now damp with sweat. Clearly Talin had some sort of death wish and they were about to be blasted out of space.

 _“It’s Lieutenant Commander, Captain Gorv,”_ Iver’s nasally voice spat back. _“And unless you want your ship to be repossessed and a permanent mark brought against you and your crew, you will disengage from the fuel pump and vacate the platform at once, out of service to your Empire!”_

His words rang through the cockpit, but Talin remained motionless, the transmitter clutched tightly in her grasp. Her gaze was fixed to the display in front of her, but Jem could see the woman was anything but frozen, her thoughts a flurry just below the surface.

Talin moved all at once. With a decisive snap she clipped the transmitter back to the comms array. In quick succession she began flipping every switch, pushing every button, and pulling every lever in the cockpit, all while muttering something indiscernible under her breath. The klaxons screamed louder, more displays began blinking red, and Jem could hear Emmy, the little mouse droid, shrieking from the back of the ship, probably on a desperate mission to fix whatever problems were springing up due to Talin’s frantic dance at the controls. There was a solid thunk as the fuel pump disengaged, but she continued to move rapidly through the cockpit.

“Talin, we’re free from the fuel pump. Let’s get out of here,” Jem said, trying to keep her voice low and soothing.

“I’m _trying_.” Talin’s words were strangled. She grabbed desperately at the piloting sticks from where they protruded from the dashboard in front of the vacant pilot’s seat. The ship skittered from one side of the platform to the other but didn’t rise; there was a grating metallic screech as they scraped across the surface. Jem nearly fell out of her seat.

 _“YT transport_ Vigilance _!”_ Iver shouted. _“Vacate the fueling platform immediately!”_

Jem struggled to a standing position and hoisted Raland up onto her hip. She moved to stand next to the captain, whose hands now rested cautiously above the piloting sticks. Sweat shone on her dark brow and her eyes darted across the other controls.

“Talin,” Jem started again, abandoning the forced calm, “we have to go, you have to fly us out of here.”

“Vigilance _,_ _respond!”_

“Captain—”

“Stall them.”

“What? Stall them? Are you crazy? I don’t know what system you’ve been hiding in for the past eight years, but in my experience the Empire doesn’t take kindly to having to ask for anything twice. They will arrest us, if not outright kill us, for ignoring an Imperial officer,” Jem pleaded.

_“Captain Gorv, this is your final warning!”_

“Stall them, Ilyrnia. That’s an order.”

Jem’s vision ran red. _The captain wants to pull rank and get us blown up in the process? Fine. But I’ll do this my way._

Switching Raland to her opposite hip, she spun on her heel and grabbed the comms transmitter from its hook on the upper array. Static burst across the line. Raland whimpered softly and buried his face in her hair, his breath hot against her neck. Jem slowed her breathing in an effort to ease the wild pounding of her heart. Then she hit the button on the side of the transmitter.

“We hear you, Lieutenant Commander Iver,” Jem said. She slipped into an Alderaanian accent, her voice pitched low and vowels clipped. It was like putting on an old, forgotten pair of boots: simultaneously familiar and uncomfortable. Behind her, she heard Talin pause from where she was calling Mosstan and Nifty back to the ship over her personal commlink. “Our, um, port stabilizers are on the fritz and we’re having trouble taking off.”

 _“Port stabilizers?”_ Iver sputtered. _“Who is this? Where is Captain Gorv?”_

“Captain Gorv is… indisposed at the moment. This is Katryl Plura, logistics technician.”

Talin’s gaze bore into her back, but Jem refused to turn around.

_“In service to your Empire, I demand you—”_

“Actually, sir, we’re already serving the Empire,” Jem cut in. “We’re on a relief mission from Alderaan, offering aid to planets in the Outer Rim.”

_“This vessel doesn’t have any Alderaanian permits attached to it. Citizen, what is your—”_

Just then, Mosstan and Nifty barreled into the cockpit, Roxy tucked securely under the Trandoshan’s muscular reptilian arm. He set her down with a harmless thud just past the first airlock door.

“Here, captain,” Nifty said after removing his helmet. He handed that and a paper-wrapped parcel to Talin before getting to work at the controls. His hands flew across the various panels, fixing whatever systems Talin had disrupted previously. When all of the alarms were silenced and the displays returned to their neutral green or blue, he settled into the pilot’s seat and grabbed hold of the piloting sticks. Engines fired and the ship began to rise.

 _“—have you arrested for treason!”_ Lieutenant Iver finished, his voice ringing shrilly in the now quiet cockpit.

“Actually, sir, looks like we have everything under control now. See you around, _Lieutenant_ ,” Jem said brightly. With an elegant flourish she returned the comm transmitter back to its cradle and turned the short-range communications system off before the Imperials could reply. She all but collapsed back into her seat, Raland resting securely on her lap.

“GO!” The shout was unanimous from all of the crew. Nifty shoved the controls forward and the ship shot off the platform.

Talin let out a sigh. “Great work, Nifty,” she said and clapped him on the shoulder. “I don’t think they’re following us, so let’s go ahead and make the jump to hyperspace. You have those coordinates?”

“Yep,” Nifty said simply, then set about typing a series of digits into the navicomputer.

The captain began giving more orders to Mosstan—Jem too, probably, but she couldn’t process any of the words. Blood pounded furiously in Jem’s ears as she sat there, numb, all the adrenaline having drained from her body. The taste of wrongness was heavy and bitter on her tongue. _What had just happened?_ Defying the Empire was one thing—dangerous, but not uncommon, and Jem herself had been the slightest bit giddy when she had signed off the comms channel with Iver’s incorrect title.

But Talin… She hadn’t delayed out of pure spite, of that Jem was almost certain. If anything, she had seemed more frightened than Jem with how erratic her movements had been, how shaky her hands. No. While she had tried to get them out of there, she’d only asked Jem to stall when she’d fail to get the ship moving on her own. For that she’d needed Nifty, who was now piloting the ship away from the fuel station to the necessary hyperspace lane.

The pieces began to click into place. A captain unfamiliar with her own ship, who didn’t even know how to fly it. A mission that had very nearly resulted in kidnapping and had been wrought with secrecy from the beginning.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

“Ilyrnia?” Talin called, probably not for the first time.

Jem snapped her attention up to where the captain was now standing beside her. At some point Raland must have crawled off of her lap; he now rested comfortably in his mother’s arms with closed eyes.

“I’m going to put him back to bed, but we should talk more when I get back.” Talin fixed with a critical look, a thousand questions brimming behind her dark eyes.

 _Great,_ Jem thought, _I have some questions of my own._

***

Talin brushed her hand across Raland’s brow and listened to her son’s quiet breathing fill the cabin. He looked so small in their bunk, the blankets drawn up around his face. Small and utterly fragile.

 _I could have lost him today._ The voice in her head sounded broken and she wanted to weep at the thought. Instead, she gave herself a mental shake. _No. No, the Empire hadn’t been there for him, they couldn’t have known what he is. I’ve been careful_ —we’ve _been careful. We’re safe. We’re safe._

She repeated those lines like a mantra, letting it play over and over again in her mind. But it killed her to know this was the life her son was forced to live; always on the run across the galaxy but constantly kept onboard the ship, his childhood reduced to these durasteel walls. He didn’t know any different and was too young to complain, but the years were already speeding by so quickly. She wanted to see him run and laugh, to feel sunlight on his cheeks and have rain make rivers on his skin. She wanted him to breathe air that hadn’t been recycled and have friends to play with.

She wanted him to _live_ , free of the fear that choked at her daily.

That’s why she was doing this. After the years of research and rumors, of shoddy leads and close calls, she had finally— _finally_ —found what she hoped to be the answer. Of all the sleepless nights, Raland tucked close to her body, asking the Force why it had chosen her song out of all the beings in the galaxy, now she fell asleep to the whisper of _soon soon soon_ repeating in time to the beating of her heart.

At least Talin hoped it was soon. She had felt so confident in bringing Ilyrnia Durst into the fold, almost smug with the realization that she wouldn’t have to pay that sleemo Farent Gamel a small fortune to translate the information on the backend. She now had a genuine Mandalorian on her crew. But the Ilyrnia situation was proving… complicated, if the last hour was any indication.

She couldn’t fault the girl for having secrets—Force knew she herself hadn’t been entirely forthcoming about the mission yet. But she was starting to worry she’d pegged Ilyrnia—if that even was her name—all wrong. The bit about Katryl Plura, the Alderaanian accent—it had all been too immediate, too rehearsed to simply be a ploy to delay the Imperials. Was it possible Talin had seen a girl with _beskar_ on her arms and had misidentified her as Mandalorian? The armor was supposedly valuable and incredibly important to Mandalorian culture, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t stolen it.

Ilyrnia was an enigma, one Talin didn’t have the luxury of leaving to chance. And maybe it was time to find out just who this girl was… But she wouldn’t learn anything hiding out in her cabin. With stilted movements that came from sitting on the hard floor for too long, Tain gave her son a final kiss on the forehead and clambered to her feet.

She was attacked as soon as she palmed open the door.

“What kind of ship is this?” Ilyrnia came at her like a half-starved tooka, wild and angry. That fire was back in her golden brown eyes, the same fire that had lit them back at the archives. Thankfully, this time she didn’t have a pipe in her grasp. Not that it made her any less dangerous if she _was_ a Mandalorian.

“Um, lightweight transport?” Talin said, too startled to think. Apparently that was the wrong answer because the short archivist kept coming at her.

“You don’t know the manufacturer? The model or classification?”

“Uh…”

“Is it stolen?”

“Excuse me? Hold on, wait a sec—”

“DID YOU STEAL THIS SHIP?” Ilyrnia shouted, her face flushed red.

Tali could do little more than blink at the accusation. Is that what this was about? The girl thought they were a bunch of pirates?

 _Can I really blame her for that?_ Talin wondered. In the past few hours, Ilyrnia had witnessed them stun and nearly kidnap her elderly mentor, leave Cloud City via a smuggling hatch, and stand off (rather by accident) against the Empire. It wasn’t a track record that spoke highly of their credibility. Legally, Talin could understand how she and her crew might be on shaky ground in the eyes of a stranger, but morally she stood behind everything they had done and still had to do, however questionable things might appear. But how to convince Ilyrnia of that?

Another minute ticked by as she contemplated the situation before her, the tiny possible-Mando staring daggers at her impatiently.

“Come with me,” Talin said finally, moving out of the doorway so she could palm it closed. “My son is trying to sleep.”

Ilyrnia, to her credit, at least had the decency to look sheepish as she followed the captain down the corridor to the holotable. Nifty was still in the cockpit, though they had made the jump to hyperspace a while back and still had hours left of travel. Mosstan, in seeing the pair enter the small sitting area, made himself scarce with his cup of steaming caf. Talin settled herself in the first chair; Ilyrna ignored the seat opposite and instead situated herself at the technical station. She sat rigid with her back straight and her feet planted flat on the floor.

 _For a girl with so many secrets,_ Talin thought, _she sure is easy to read._

She opened her mouth then, clearly ready to continue with her barrage of questions, but Talin beat her to it.

“What do you know about Pijal?”

It was Ilyrnia’s turn to blink dumbly, her mask of stony fury giving way to confusion. “Um… Inner Rim planet, right? Primarily human population. Run by a monarchy, I think. I don’t know much else.”

“They’re a democracy now, actually,” Talin corrected, though she tried not to appear smug that her question had caught the girl off guard. “The monarchy was overturned and the Assembly formed about 30 years ago. I’m impressed, really; Pijal was isolated for generations until recently, a lot of people barely know the system exists.”

“It’s kind of my job to know stuff,” Ilyrnia grumbled.

“Because Pijal was cut off from the rest of the galaxy for so long, their culture was fairly unique compared to other similarly inhabited planets.” _Like Mandalore,_ though Talin didn’t say that last part. “Pijal citizens valued inner beauty in everything they did. Your silk blouse, for example, would be seen as much too vivid and extravagant on its own, but pair it with a simple plain robe that concealed everything and you’d be the height of Pijali fashion. External plainness over internal beauty; a protective coating over hidden strength.”

Ilyrnia nodded but still looked lost. Talin clapped her hands twice sharply and the lights all around them blinked off. There was a split second of utter blackness, and then the walls began to glow. Complicated patterns of swirls and shapes lined the walls from top to bottom and gave off a soft green light. Knots of brush strokes blanketed the surface in a dizzying array, and along the ceiling a fat line traveled the length of the corridor, acting as an anchor from one side of the ship to the other. She heard Ilyrnia let out a small gasp as she took in the sight around them.

“My husband was from Pijal,” Talin said, her voice barely above a whisper. She always felt reverent whenever she found herself in the glow of the walls, as if she’d shatter some sort of illusion if she didn’t pay it the proper respect. It was a silly belief—she had helped touch up the paint multiple times and knew it wasn’t some sort of magic at work—but she’d been through too much in the past five years to truly throw away her superstition. “This was his ship. And now it’s mine.”

“Inner beauty, hidden strength,” Ilyrnia whispered, and Talin smiled. The girl’s eyes sought hers in the dim light. “Your husband—what happened to him?”

Talin tried not to squirm at the personal question. She knew that if she wanted the truth of Ilyrnia’s story she’d have to trust her with her own.

“He was an independent trader. He was just a boy when Pijal’s isolation ended, but the economy struggled for decades to adjust to the new influx of imports and exports. Many in his village were being taken advantage of by the larger corporations trying to monopolize on their goods and resources, so Xand eventually poured all his credits into buying this ship and making fair deals with his neighbors to deliver their products to neighboring systems. That’s how we met.”

“So he was a trader and you were…?”

“A farmer’s daughter. Our home worlds generate lightning storms that my people have harnessed and sold for millennia. My father thought he could swindle a few extra credits from a young and inexperienced trader like Xand. He got his money, but he lost me.”

“Your family didn’t approve?”

“Our culture is… complicated when it comes to outsiders.” Talin struggled to find the right words. It had been so long since she’d had to discuss her family. Raland was still too young to ask questions, Nifty had been with her husband since the beginning, and Mosstan was Mosstan about the whole thing—entirely silent and unobtrusive.

“Clan lineage is passed down along the father’s side. If the father is human or another near-human species other than Kiffar, then the line dies with the mother and any children they might have are not considered as part of the clan,” she explained.

“They disowned you.” Sympathy colored Ilyrnia’s voice even softer. “And Raland.”

“Yes.” Talin can still remember her father’s thunderous face as she told him she was leaving with Xand, of their intentions to marry and start a family. He had cursed her for her decision, cursed her for choosing a life amongst the stars with the man she loved over remaining with her clan. Talin had loved her family—she still did, though not nearly as fiercely or as frequently—and it had hurt to be so easily cast aside. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, lost in her memories, before Ilyrnia spoke up again.

“And your husband? Xand?”

“We were together nearly two years. He and Nifty ran the supplies and I handled the books. It was supposed to be a routine trip, one he’d done a thousand times. I was pregnant with Raland at the time and couldn’t travel, so Xand instructed Nifty to stay behind with me. We had a second ship, a little one-person freighter that could easily make the trip. The _Flint,_ he called it. He was on his way back when he must have put in one of the navigational coordinates wrong. His path was off just slightly and he struck an asteroid field mid flight.”

Ilyrnia sucked in a breath at that. Talin nodded.

“The impact didn’t penetrate the hull, but it cracked the engine’s power cells. The ship couldn’t fly, and it didn’t have an escape pod; it soon flooded with radiation from the damage.”

 _“Hells,”_ the girl choked.

“He was able to get out a distress beacon, but he was there for _hours_ —” Talin’s voice cracked harshly, a sob building up in her throat “—before someone was able to rescue him. By the time he made it home, the damage was permanent. He was dying from radiation poisoning.”

Even now, Talin shuddered to think of the way he was in those final months. She didn’t want to remember him with bloodshot yellow eyes and peeling, oozing skin.

“He lived long enough to see Raland born, to hold his son in his arms and know he was healthy and loved. I thank the Force for that every day. He left me the _Vigilance_ so that I might sell it and pocket the credits to support the two of us, but instead I made it our life, our home. I am not not a thief or a pirate, I’m just a poor excuse for a captain. But mostly, I am a mother trying to protect her son from a galaxy that would eat him alive if given the chance.”

The two of them were quiet for a long time, letting the green glow of the walls wash over the silence left behind after Talin’s story.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Ilyrnia cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”

Golden brown eyes bore into hers across the darkened interior, and Talin nodded in grateful response.

“But…” the girl’s voice trailed off and she winced. “What does this have to do with me?”

Talin studied her companion, noticing the way the luminescent patterns danced across her dark hair and pale skin. In the dim light, the golden shimmer of her blouse shone like a faint beacon. But more than anything she looked small and lost. Talin had trusted her with part of her story, but it had yet to allude to her true intentions for the archivist; it was time to trust her with the rest of the narrative and hope she was just as honest in return.

“What do you know of the Jedi?” Talin asked. She leaned forward in her chair so that her elbows rested on her knees, fingers templed below her chin. It was another test, she would admit, to see how the girl responded to being asked about the ancient enemy of the Mandalorians. This time, however, Ilyrnia didn’t blink. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

“The Jedi? They were peacekeepers mostly, I suppose. They could move objects with their minds and jump impossibly high and communicate with animals, among other powers. They believed the Force guided everything and they followed its guidance. They’re all gone now, destroyed with other remnants of the Republic after the Empire rose to power. Oh, and they had laser swords.”

It was a straightforward answer, exactly what Talin expected from an archivist. But it also gave nothing away in terms of the girl’s personal feelings about the Jedi.

“Peacekeepers,” Talin agreed. “And do you know where the Jedi came from?”

“I thought you were supposed to be answering my question?”

“I’m getting there, I promise.” Talin motioned for Ilyrnia to continue, and she did so with a sigh.

“Jedi could come from any planet in the galaxy. If they were identified as Force sensitive as infants, they would be taken to the Jedi temple for training.”

Once again, Talin was impressed by her knowledge. Anymore, most people identified the Jedi as a race of crazy wizards that had attacked the Emperor and ultimately caused their own downfall. And they had laser swords.

“I think Raland is Force sensitive.”

Ilyrnia choked.

 _“What?_ How do you know? Isn’t there supposed to be some sort of blood test the Jedi used to do?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Talin admitted. “It’s a guess really, based on the unexplainable things he’s done in the past few years. He’s never been sick and he heals quickly if he gets hurt, and he can often sense things before they happen. Like today at the fuel station—he knew the Imperials had arrived before they commed us. He _felt_ it.”

“Kids are strange, Talin!” Ilyrnia cried. “They do weird things at weird times. That doesn’t make your son a Jedi.”

“I know that, but it was Nifty that told me Raland might be exhibiting Force abilities.”

“And what would Nifty know about the Jedi?”

“He served under a Jedi general during the Clone Wars.”

Ilyrnia sputtered at that. “A _clone_? By the stars, why hadn’t I realized this sooner…”

“Can we focus, please?”

“Right, right, let me just…” Ilyrnia was pacing now, though in the small space in front of the technical station there wasn’t much room to go more than four paces back and forth. “Wait, is this why you asked me here? Is the information you're after the location of some crazy space wizard to train your son to become a Jedi?”

“Could you sit down? You’re giving me a headache. And no, I’m not looking for a way to enhance my son’s abilities; I’m looking for a way to suppress them.”

Ilyrnia froze at that before falling back into her chair. “Why?”

“To protect him. Everyone knows the Jedi Order was hunted down and executed as traitors to the Empire years ago, but there have been rumors since that the Emperor… collects any Force sensitive children his officers come across. I don’t know for what purpose, but I am _not_ losing my son.” She said it with enough force to leave her breathless at the end. “I can keep him hidden, I can keep us on the move, but that’s no life for a child. I need to be free of my fear of losing him, and for that I need him to be cut off from his connection to the Force.”

Ilyrnia nodded slowly. “I understand that. My parents did something similar, abandoning pieces of their culture to give me a life free from war and violence.”

Talin expected there was more to that story, but decided not to push the issue just yet.

“How? How is it possible to just sever a child’s connection to the Force forever? I’ve come across a lot of bizarre things in my time as an archivist but never anything like that.”

Talin, in what was turning out to be her typical response in this conversation, asked another question in response. “Tell me this, Mandalorian: why is it there hasn’t been a single Mandalorian Jedi in hundreds of years?”

The girl grunted at that, the closest thing Talin had gotten to a confirmation of her heritage yet, but ultimately didn’t offer up any sort of answer.

“I’ve been chasing rumors and leads for months,” Talin continued, “and, to the best of my understanding, Mandalorians developed some sort of method to null Force abilities in their children after the Mandalorian Excision of 738 BBY. Something about not wanting to lose their _ade_ to the enemy.”

“It makes sense,” Ilyrnia nodded. “Family is extremely important to ou— _Mandalorian_ culture.”

Talin tried not to smirk at the slip in Ilyrnia’s words.

“Right. But rumors aren’t enough. I need to know if they did it and how they accomplished it.”

“So what, an instruction manual? You think that’s what is in the Imperial archives?”

“If my intel is good, which I believe it is.” _Otherwise I’ve wasted entirely too many credits,_ Talin though darkly.

“And that’s where I come in? I’m supposed to lead you to this Jedi-erasing instructional manual within the Imperial archives?”

The girl has a bit too much sass in her words for Talin at the moment, so her next words are crafted to knock her back down.

“I need an archivist to find the information, yes, but I need a Mandalorian to translate it.” She stared hard at her companion across the way, willing her to be the first to break. She did.

 _“Kriff,”_ she cursed, letting her breath out in one fell _swoosh_ . “It was the _beskar_ , wasn’t it? That gave me away? _Kriffing hells_ , I’ve been so careful, and then the one day I’m not in my usual flight suit and jacket with _fitted sleeves_ , I run into you lot and tip my hand. My mother always told me I didn’t need armor to be a Mandalorian, but…”

Talin let her ramble, knowing she’d get her answers eventually. When she finally trailed off, the little Mandalorian took a deep breath and turned her attention back to the captain.

“I don’t… know what to say,” she said simply, her hands twisted in her lap.

It struck Talin then what this girl was offering: herself. How long had she been on the run, and what had convinced her to conceal her identity and past as a Madalorian?

“Why don’t you start with your name?” Talin suggested.

Another sigh, then she stood up and offered her hand across the holotable.

“Jemmaca Silmore. Clan Silmore of House Kast. I think.”

“You think?” Talin asked, shaking the offered hand wearily. A Mandalorian with a fake name she had expected; but a Mandalorian that didn’t know her clan affiliation? That was… interesting, to say the least.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue, am I right? Super important, but super hard to write.
> 
> Also, the Mandalorian Excision is 100% from Legends. While in my personal opinion my fic is canon compliant (i.e. it fits with the canon timeline of movies, shows, and the canon books), I have consistently drawn from Legends in regards to species and locations. The way I see it, events such as the Mandalorian Excision that happened well before the canon timeline aren't necessarily inaccurate, they just haven't been reconfirmed by canon media. Where we start getting dicey is anything Legends that happened just before The Phantom Menace (32 BBY) and on through the canon timeline.
> 
> Along that same note, the Mandalorains creating some sort of process for nullifying Force sensitivities to keep their children from the Jedi Order is completely head-canon. It does not exist anywhere else but here. But doesn't it just make so much sense?
> 
> Next time we'll get into Jem's backstory, I promise.
> 
> Mando'a for the day!  
> ade - children


	6. The Survivor (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jem wasn't always always an archivist, but she's always been a survivor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! This one’s a bit heavier than the previous chapters, so a couple content warnings for today’s story:  
> First, I recognize that, while the Death Watch taking control of Sundari is an event from canon, it might be reminiscent of the capital insurrection from January 6th. If you want to avoid reading descriptions of the violence, skip the section that starts with “The Death Watch arrived two years later.” and pick it back up at “Pav turned off the holoscreen…”  
> Second, canon typical violence with implied execution. To skip it, stop at “Kurso was less impressed.” and pick back up at “The moments that followed moved like mud...”  
> I’ll put a quick synopsis in the end notes for anyone that decides to avoid these sections.
> 
> As always, stay golden and don’t forget to say hello!  
> Cheers!  
> News4Bees

When Jem thought about her time on Mandalore, she preferred to reminisce on memories from Before. The way the sun painted rainbows across the city of Sundari as it shone through the bio-dome; the rough feeling of bark beneath her hands whenever she would climb a tree in Peace Park, its branches engineered so that its canopy formed a perfect green sphere; her mother’s tea, sharp and comforting as it warmed her belly each day after school.

She liked to remember her father’s smile, too, the way it stretched across his face as he told Jem stories about his day. Pav Silmore had been a reserved man, not one to seek attention and always careful with his words; but when he laughed it was loud and deep and joyous. Her mother, Diina, had been a softer presence, with a voice like honey that soothed fears and coaxed gentle smiles.

Jem only ever thought of them as Pav and Diina now, and only ever in the context of Before, a thin sheet of transparisteel separating daughter from parents. Because After… After there _was_ no Pav and Diina. Just Jem, broken and alone.

* * *

Jem wasn’t sure at what point in her childhood she noticed her parents were smiling less and whispering more. But she does remember the first time she learned the galaxy was at war.

She was twelve, nearly thirteen, and hungry beyond belief. Her stomach clenched painfully as she dragged her feet over the threshold of their small apartment in the lower city.

“Ugh,” Jem said as she threw herself dramatically into a seat at the dining table across from her mother. “Another day of boiled greens for lunch. Can I have a snack with my tea? I promise I won’t spoil my dinner.”

Diina’s lips pinched in a tight line and she wouldn’t meet her daughter’s gaze before she disappeared into the kitchen. She came back with only a single steaming mug.

Jem took a sip and nearly choked at the woody flavor. “Ick, what is— _buir?”_

“I’m sorry,” Diina whispered and tears welled in her fragile green eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s the war,” Pav explained later, Diina having taken refuge in the secluded darkness of their bedroom after a sparse dinner. “Duchess Satine is holding firm to Mandalore’s neutrality, thank the stars, but it means we’re cut off from many of the trade shipments that usually supply our city.”

“War? Where?” Jem asked, utterly perplexed. She’d learned about war in school, about the history of Mandalorians fighting the Jedi, fighting other systems, fighting each other; shedding blood in the name of power. But that was all in the past… wasn’t it?

“Everywhere,” her father spat out bitterly. “Across the galaxy. Separatists fighting the Republic. Droids fighting clones.”

The acid in his voice surprised her. Jem had never known her father to be so angry. His words, and her mother’s tears, stayed with Jem for some time and often kept her up at night. It left her… unsettled, uncertain what her role was supposed to be in all this, if there even was something she could do. She was just a child—and the victim of a war she couldn’t see.

The tea she could handle, and eventually grew used to the musky sensation that coated her tongue with each sip. Pav’s brooding and Diina’s worried fidgeting were another matter. Jem tried hard to ignore the changes in her parents’ demeanors, but the atmosphere in their little apartment quickly turned sharp and edgy. She escaped it whenever she could.

The hunger was constant. It tugged at her consciousness and made her limbs sluggish. Her friends at school fared no better or worse from the lack of food, though she noticed some students lashed out more regularly than others. Luptar was one of them—a tall, piggish boy a year ahead of Jem in school with small, sunken black eyes.

“The duchess is a fool if she thinks neutrality is going to save Mandalore from war,” he sneered one day at lunch, loud enough for Jem to hear several tables away. “She and her advisors are weak—they can’t protect us from the Death Watch! They had to call in a Jedi for that. My father says _pacifism_ is going to kill us well before any war comes to our system.”

Jem wasn’t sure at what point she stood up from her table, her feet carrying her across the room until she stood behind Luptar. He was laughing now, and the sound made her vision swim a fiery red. At twelve, she barely understood the issues facing her city, her planet. But she knew her parents supported the duchess, supported pacifism and neutrality. And this boy was laughing at them.

“You’re wrong,” she said, and he turned to look at her.

“Yeah? And what—”

Jem’s fist, ill-formed and sloppy, connected with his face before he could finish. Pain raced up her fingers and set the bones on fire. A slow trickle of blood leaked from her split knuckles, leaving blossoms of red blooming on the scuffed white floor. She was sent home.

 _“Verd ori'shya beskar'gam,”_ her mother reminded her while patching her up.

It wasn’t the last time Jem would use her fists (or her feet, for that matter) to settle disputes with her classmates. Her temper ran fierce during that time, lashing out in unexpected ways. But she learned to hide her less serious injuries from her parents and keep her fights off of the school grounds.

* * *

By thirteen, Jem hardly recognized herself. Mandalore had spent months in isolation, their supply stores dwindling dangerously low as less and less shipments were allowed through. She saw it in the way her uniform hung limply off her thin frame; her limbs and slim muscles stood out in stark relief. Shallow skin and dull hair sucked away all the softness of her youth to the point where she somehow looked far older and younger than her years.

When the tea vendor returned, setting up his little stall just across the street from the school’s main entrance, Jem didn’t stop to ask questions. None of them did. They just handed over the necessary amount of credits to the vendor and tucked the bottled beverage into their bags to drink with lunch.

By dinner she, along with half the school and hundreds of other students across the city, was in the hospital.

Jem remembered little from her time there. Flashes, really. A pulsing pain in her gut that left her listless, the steady beep of machines hooked up to her frail body, and the ghostly impression of her parents standing over her. Even those brief instances felt like they were painted in fog, cast in a strange dream-like quality.

“What are we going to do, Pav?” Jem heard her mother ask in one of her rare moments of consciousness, though her eyes remained too heavy to open.

“We leave Sundari,” Pav said simply, his words clipped and rushed.

Diina was silent for a long time. “Where would we go?”

“Home.”

“You can’t mean…”

“Candala.”

Jem’s exhausted mind struggled to keep up with the outside world. Candala? _Home?_

She knew from school that Candala was the second moon of Concord Dawn, and the ancestral home of House Kast. She also knew her parents never spoke about their past, about their lives before Sundari, before the Mandalorian Civil War when Jem was born.

“No.” Diina’s voice shook.

 _“Cyare_ —”

 _“No._ I won’t subject our daughter to the clans’ inclination for combat. They’d only introduce her to war.”

“War has already found us on Sundari,” Pav replied, brushing a gentle hand across Jem’s heated brow. “At least on Candala she’d have warriors around to protect her, to teach her to protect herself.”

Jem didn’t hear her mother’s response. Instead, she slid back into a blank sleep.

She learned later it had been slabin poisoning that had made her so ill, a usually harmless additive in the bottled tea made toxic when consumed in too high of a dose. Jem made a full recovery, but some classmates, like Luptar, were not so lucky.

Casualties of war to some; casualties of neutrality to others.

* * *

The Death Watch came nearly two year later.

Jem had only ever known them to be terrorists, a splinter cell of Mandalorian commandos that believed Mandalore’s warrior past was the true heritage of its people. It defied everything the residents of Sundari stood for, everything Jem had been taught from a young age.

She’d never seen a commando in full armor until they lit up the dome with their jetpacks and yellow blaster bolts.

Earlier that day, dozens of organized criminals had infiltrated the dome. They had bombed key structures, attacked citizens in the streets, and spread fear throughout the city. Sundari’s guards had proved themselves ineffective at holding off the sheer magnitude of the attack. But Death Watch had ended the violence and arrested the criminals in mere moments.

Jem had watched with her parents as the events unfolded across the holonews; they had been lucky to have been home when the attack began. Now, after all the criminals had been apprehended and the streets cleared, the family sat in tense silence as an unfamiliar woman addressed the whole of Sundari from a palace balcony, her blue and black _beskar’gam_ identifying her as part of Death Watch.

“Duchess Satine and the New Mandalorian leaders,” she said, her voice booming over the crowd of people gathered in the palace courtyard, “have fled in cowardice while the Death Watch brought these criminals to justice. Your new prime minister, Pre Vizsla, leader of Death Watch, exiled governor of Concordia, true son of Mandalore, presents you with the lords of the most feared crime families in the galaxy.”

The man, Pre Vizsla, was tall and rigid, with hair and eyes so pale they were almost colorless. The holorecorder zoomed in close as he approached the edge of the balcony, filling the screen with the sharp edges of his scared face. He moved with a practiced military grace.

And the crowd _cheered._ Residents of Sundari, old and young, screamed the name of the man who, just the day before, would have been their enemy.

Pav turned the off holoscreen with a decisive smack to the controls, casting the trio in sudden darkness and silence after hours rooted in place. The family sat frozen for several moments, none of them speaking. As if the quiet was the only thing keeping reality at bay.

“Pav.” Diina was the first to break, her throaty whisper crackling across the dim interior. “Pav, what are we… how do we…”

She let the questions die. But Pav knew his wife better than anyone; he understood what she was trying to say.

“It’s time to go,” he said tersely. “Pack your things, Jemma. Quickly.”

Jem’s heart plunged into her stomach and her world rocked sideways.

 _“What?_ We’re leaving? _Buir,_ where—”

“Now, _ad’ika,”_ Pav said, grasping her arm to pull her to her feet. “We don’t have much time.”

Jem moved to her room in a jolted sort of daze, only able to focus on what was immediately in front of her. She shoved two sets of clothes into her school bag, followed by enough socks and underwear to last her a week. Her father hadn’t told her where they were going yet, and Diina had been equally silent, so Jem wasn’t sure what she needed beyond clothing. Soap? Yes, soap was a good idea. They might be fugitives but at least they’d be clean.

Fugitives. It was the only word she could think of to describe her family. Since normal people—innocent people—didn’t run off in the middle of the night.

Jem palmed open her bedroom door and stepped into the hall, the refresher just across the way. She paused when she heard her parents’ voices emanating softly from the kitchen. They spoke too low for her to hear clearly, and much of what they said was drowned out by the rustle of food being pulled from the cupboards, so she only caught snippets.

_“...run...dock...ship...Candala...”_

That last word sent a white-hot shard of awareness straight through her middle. Her mind skipped back to her parents’ hushed conversation over her hospital bed those two years prior.

Candala.

Family.

_Home._

Jem crept silently down the hall, drawing closer to better hear her parents.

“...turn us away?” Diina asked. “How do you know it’s safe?”

Pave sighed. “I don’t know—I _can’t_ know for sure what we’ll be walking into. But better the clan you do know than the commandos you don’t.” Then he called, “Jemma? Are you ready? It’s time to go.”

“Yes, _buir.”_ Jem dashed back to her room and scooped up her bag, the soap forgotten. Hopefully Candala was civilized enough to have soap and ‘freshers.

The three of them kept close to the edge of buildings as they crept across the city, the streets thankfully deserted. This far down, there was little evidence of the earlier attack, though Jem’s boots still crunched loudly over shattered pieces of transparisteel that had fallen from the towering buildings above.

Jem wasn’t sure how long they walked—hours likely, based on how sore her feet were—but the dome was lightening slightly as they reached what she assumed was their destination. Pav signaled for them to stop in a narrow alley swaddled in thick shadows.

“Where are we?” Jem asked, but her father silenced her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Stay here,” he breathed into her ear, his breath warm against her cool skin. She shivered. “Stay hidden. I’ll be back when I’ve found a ship.”

His gaze was unreadable as he passed his bag to Diina before slinking silently out of the alley. Jem took a step after him and peered out around the corner. Through the gloom she could make out a tall fence with a gate at its center, and beyond that the wings and bodies of dozens of small starships—they were at the residential shipyard, where the people of Sundari stored their personal crafts. And Pav was about to steal one.

Fugitives indeed.

Her mother pulled her back, tugging on the hem of her tunic until they were crouched shoulder to shoulder with their backs pressed against the wall. In the dark, every sound was amplified until Jem’s mind played tricks on her. The subtle shift of ruble was a tumbling avalanche; her heartbeat an approaching army with shiny boots and large blasters; and the rush of wind blowing through the tunnel that exited the dome was the hungry roar of a monster waiting to eat her alive.

Then, different sounds caught her attention: a startled gasp, soft flesh hitting the ground, a pained groan. Laughter, deep and ugly.

“Whatchya got, Tarsyk?” a feminine voice called out, their pitch distorted and amplified by a helmet modulator. “Another deserter?”

“Yep. Another New Mandalorian _hut’uun,”_ said the laughing voice, also modulated.

“Pav,” Diina choked and scrambled to her feet.

 _“Buir,_ no,” Jem pleaded in a whisper, tugging on her mother’s hand.

“Stay here.” Diina’s eyes flashed in the darkness as she turned to shove the bags in Jem’s arms. Then she ran, darting out of the alley and across into the shipyard.

Her mind moved sluggishly, reluctant to accept the reality of her situation. Now what? Both of her parents had thrown themselves headfirst out of the alley and into unknown danger, and she was just supposed to sit here? There was a manic part of her that wanted to laugh. It was ironic, wasn’t it? Her pacifist parents ready to fight whatever (or whomever) was standing in their way, while Jem, who had accumulated more split knuckles and bruised ribs over the years than she could count, was left behind.

 _“Stay here,_ ” Pav and Diina had said.

_I can’t._

In a flash, Jem was on her feet, the bags falling haphazardly on the ground. She sprinted out of the alley, only a dozen steps behind her mother. Her own gasping breaths were loud in her ears as she cleared the fence surrounding the shipyard. And then—

The tell-tale shriek of blaster fire.

Jem dove behind an astromech station just inside the entrance to the yard for cover. Moving cautiously, she peered out from where she was crouched and scanned the area ahead of her. She saw her father first, on his knees before a helmeted Death Watch commando, likely the one with the cruel laugh. Pav listed heavily to the side and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth and down his chin, but otherwise he appeared fine. And there was Diina, still running, her arms outstretched in front of her. A blaster in her grasp.

 _Where had she gotten a blaster?_ Jem could only stare as her mother unleashed another volley of blaster bolts, their glaring red light painting her face in savage lines. Most of the shots went wild and flew past the commando, but the couple that found their target only sparked harmlessly off his beskar.

Diina was only a few steps away when the female commando came at her from behind, landing a pointed jab to the base of her neck. Diina went down in a twist of limbs and hit the duracrete with a garbled scream. The blaster flew out of her hand and skittered across the ground before coming to a rest at the man’s feet.

“Well,” the man, Tasryk, said as he bent to pick up the blaster, “that was interesting. Kurso?”

“A right kriffing show,” Kurso agreed. She came to stand beside him with her hands resting confidently on her armored hips. “Think they know any other tricks?”

Pav tried to get to his feet, but his legs collapsed under him, still too weak from whatever the commando had done to knock him down. He could only crawl, slowly and painfully, over to where Diina lay and help her to her knees. In this position, Jem could no longer see her parents’ faces, their backs were to her hiding spot, but she could hear the tremor in her father’s voice when he spoke. Whether it was out of fear or anger she couldn’t tell.

“Please, just let us go and we’ll—”

“And you’ll what?” Kurso said, an obvious sneer behind her words. “Pay us? You think your measly credits will be enough to sway us? We’ve been tasked by Vizsla himself to guard this shipyard, to protect it from cowards like you who think to abandon Mandalore at the dawn of her new era. _Aruetii._ You have nothing to bargain with, not even your lives.”

Tarsyk barked a laugh and tossed Diina’s blaster from one hand to the other. _“Aruetii,_ indeed. Even their weaponry is inferior.” He squatted down and grabbed Diina roughly by the chin, forcing her to look at him. “Do you know why you failed, little pacifist? It’s not because you lack bravery. Oh no, you were quite… ferocious with you little attack. But your blaster here?” He tapped it almost playfully against her temple. “Ridiculous. You see, only a _real_ Mandalorian’s blaster could pierce beskar—it’s what they were designed to do. But seeing as your people clearly aren’t Mandalorian, I suppose I can’t fault you for your choice in weapon. Just a bunch of pacifist scum, like that so-called duchess of yours.”

 _“Verd ori’shya beskar’gam.”_ Diina wrenched her face away, and Jem’s spirit swelled.

Kurso was less impressed. She backhanded Diina across the face, causing her cheek to split open.

“Stop!” Pav pleaded, but Tarsyk pushed him away.

“You’re braver than I would have expected, little pacifist,” he said to Diina. “You say a Mandalorian is more than their armor? Why don’t we test that theory, hmm? Your blaster was useless against my _beskar’gam_. Let’s see if it has the same effect on your pride.”

He stood slowly, the blaster aimed straight at Diina’s chest.

Jem’s heart slowed, her blood moved sluggishly in her veins. He can’t mean to… No. _No._ She spun away, burying her face in her knees and crossing her arms over her head.

A blaster bolt shrieked through the air, followed closely by a second one.

A scream.

A thud.

Then laughter, cold and tinny coming from the helmets of the Death Watch commandos. She could hear their voices as she sat there, shaking. Were they coming closer or moving away? She couldn’t tell. The world felt foreign, like a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. Her parents were gone— _dead_ —and for the life of her she couldn't think of what to do next.

The moments that followed moved like mud, and Jem was trapped up to her knees in it. Everything felt too loud and too close. Her breath hitched painfully in her chest until her eyes streamed. If she stayed here or tried to find a ship on her own, she’d just be captured and executed by the Death Watch. Her only option was to run. To abandon her parents and flee in her own self interest. It filled her gut with the sick weight of loathing, but her body was already moving, her feet finding traction as she unfolded into a crouch.

And then she ran.

She was already past the gate when the commandos noticed her. They yelled at her to stop, then opened fire with their blasters. Red and gold bolts peppered the ground in her wake and threw sparks across her path, but she made it to the alley before they could hit her.

She fell, tripped up by the family’s bags she’d left behind when she’d chased after Diina. Jem skidded painfully on her hands and knees, the rough duracrete ripping away skin. But she was up again in an instant, abandoning the bags once more and running full tilt back the way they had come. Back home.

* * *

Jem didn’t remember arriving back at the apartment. One moment she had been running out of the alley, the next she had been back here, seated at the table with a damp cloth in her hand and picking bits of gravel from her palms. And there were her boots by the door—her boots, and no one else's.

Pav.

Diina.

 _Oh stars._ The events of the past few hours spun on a loop through her mind. It left her drained, with tear stains marring her wane cheeks.

Time progressed strangely, and Jem wasn’t sure if days were passing or weeks. She moved in a daze when awake, wearing a path between her parents’ bed and the sparsely stacked kitchen. They had taken most of the food with them when they had fled, and the little that was left did little to curb her hunger. But she couldn’t leave the apartment to buy more; she didn’t have any credits, or any answers to the questions people would ask about her parents’ whereabouts. And what if the Death Watch was out there searching for her? No, it was better to stay put and wait, but for what she hadn’t decided yet.

Jem kept the holoscreen turned off, too, though it meant she had no idea what was going on in the rest of the city. She couldn’t stomach the propaganda that was likely being plastered across the networks, couldn’t stand to hear Sundari residents praising the work of Pre Vizsla and the Death Watch.

Her time here was limited—she knew that. The food in the cupboards wouldn’t last her much longer, and there was no reason for her to remain in Sundari. But she needed to be smart about her escape. Commandos like Tarsyk and Kurso were likely still guarding the residential shipyard, and other exit points, like the commercial docks, would be just as well protected. But Jem was no pilot and knew she wouldn’t be able to fly a ship on her own. At least at the commercial docks she might be able to find a ship to stow away on. But she needed a distraction, something big that would guarantee that the Death Watch wouldn’t notice her trying to leave. That was going to be the tricky part, but for now she could at least be prepared in case the opportunity presented itself.

She found the armor when she was looking for supplies to aid in her escape. It was stacked neatly in a crate at the back of her mother’s wardrobe, buried beneath old tunics. Jem stared at the pile of iron. The armor looked old and dusty, though relatively smooth, and it was without dents or scorch marks; this beskar had not seen combat since it had been forged.

Jem pulled it out piece by piece and spread it out on the floor around her, arranging it in order. When she was done, she rocked back on her heels and regarded the fully assembled _beskar’gam._ It was a relatively simple set with very minimal pieces to Jem’s understanding, though she only had the massively armored Death Watch commandos to compare it to. The various pieces were slim and petite, with the chest piece molded into feminine curves. Most of the paint had been scraped off so that only stubborn bits of summer green remained against the dull metal.

The helmet she put back in the crate. Jem couldn’t bear the thought of fitting it on her head and becoming just another faceless commando. The rest of the armor was a different matter. It called to her, just the sight of it filling her with a strange sense of strength. But without a flight suit there was no way to attach it to her body, except for the gauntlets which clasped fully around her lower arms. They were too big on her emaciated frame, but she found if she wrapped her arms in strips of silk torn from an old tunic they didn’t chafe nearly as bad.

Jem regarded her reflection carefully in the mirror, her forearms adorned in the cold metal. _Verd ori’shya beskar’gam._ True. But Jem wasn’t a warrior.

She was a survivor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heart weeps for Jem—I hope she’ll forgive me.
> 
> Quick synopsis of our CW sections:  
> First, a gang of criminal overlords infiltrated the dome of Sundari before being arrested by the Death Watch, who ultimately took control of the city.  
> Second, the Death Watch commandos Tarsyk and Kurso taunted Pav and Diina for being pacifists and not real Mandalorians, then Tarsyk pulled a blaster on the pair; Jem heard two shots being fired before she ran.
> 
> Pronunciation guide:  
> Diina = Dee-inn-ah  
> Tarsyk = Tar-sick  
> Kurso = Curse-oh
> 
> Today’s Mando’a:  
> buir = mom, dad, and parent  
> ad’ika = kid, lad, boy, sweetie, darling, son, daughter, child  
> Verd ori'shya beskar'gam = a warrior is more than their armor (I’ve used this one a lot know, so won’t be translating it again in the future)  
> cyare = darling, beloved, sweetheart (the Wookiepedia article on Mando’a has this written as “cyar’ika”, but the “ika” suffix means “little” and is mostly used in reference to children, so I adapted it to fit a conversation between a married couple. I’m not sure if this is the right form of the word, but the meaning is still there.)  
> hut’uun = coward  
> aruetii = outsider or traitor; colloquially a "non-Mandalorian"
> 
> While I tried to stick to canon as much as possible, I did take a couple liberties. For one thing, I have no clue if a residential shipyard in Sundari exists or would exist, but I thought it made sense. The people of Sundari are pacifists, not isolationists, so they might enjoy traveling around on personal space crafts. Think of it like a marina for fancy yachts. Also, Candala is completely made up. Concord Dawn does have (at least) three moons in canon, but none of them are named. Along this same line, I have no evidence that Mandalorian blasters (which always fire gold bolts from what I can tell) are designed to pierce beskar, but I ran the idea past my dad and he agreed that it was a likely possibility. So now it’s canon in this story —thanks, Dad! Finally, I had to improvise with the duration of time between canon events, but everything is still in chronological order (I’ll be posting a full timeline of Jem’s life at the end of the next chapter). Hopefully, if I did my job well as a writer, none of these liberties should have tripped you clever readers up, but if I made a mistake please (kindly) let me know.
> 
> After Part 2 of “The Survivor” we will be getting back to our little crew on the Vigilance, but I wanted to make sure I took enough time to tell Jem’s story first.  
> Until next time my lovely readers!


End file.
